Nawat
by Personification of Fluff
Summary: Or: the Importance of Pocekts A short story about Nawat while separated from Aly. Contains spoilers to Trickster's Queen and some sexuality.


**Title:**Nawat (or The Importance of Pockets)

**Rating:** PG-13; some sexuality

**Author: **Personification of Fluff

**Spoilers?: **Yes, to _Trickster's Queen._ Consider yourselves warned, ladies and gents.

**Why, of why for the love of God?:** Because after reading TQ and finding not enough Nawat fanfics online I decided to add to the collection with one of my own. It's just a one-shot fic about some of the things that Nawat under went/thought about while separated from Aly. I love the transformation in the books and I wanted to explore it. Plus, it was so much fun to try and write in Nawat's unique style of talk! Without a doubt, it made me want to write more of him.

**Disclaimer: **I do not own Nawat, nor do I have anything like him. But if I ever find a Beanie Baby crow, I will buy him and call him Nawat.

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* * *

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_They tell me I am too curious for their own good. I shrug my wings and tell them that I am a crow. Crows get into trouble. When I am satisfied, I will return to the sky. They laugh and tell me I will not. _

His thoughts were bitter as he sat in the tree, his short legs heedless of the warm weather, his glossy black feathers absorbing the bright summer sunlight. Nawat Crow watched the people below him in the courtyard, studying their movements and routines, as any good assassin should. He did not think of himself as an assassin. They were men, and he was a crow. He was merely doing as crows do, protecting their nestlings and driving away the hawks and other raptors that would put them in danger. He wanted to grow his nestlings in a safe place. And, if the rebellion went well, he knew that he would have nestlings. Many nestlings. But only with Alianne of Pirate's Swoop.

At first flying with the crows again had been fun. They had talked as they flew to the islands, heralding the people below with their familiar cries. They discussed old news, and the subject of Aly came up. His friends laughed at how he had left her. Nawat felt something tight wrap around his chest and his wings faltered a little, causing him to waver in the air.

Aly. She would be mad with him at first. Maybe by the time he came back, her anger would be worn down. Aly was not fun when she was mad. Then she went cold and drew within herself. She was not like Sarai, who yelled and threw things when she was mad. Aly was sharp and brutal, and not fun. He didn't like her when she saw mad.

He was worried about her.

He tried to pretend he wasn't. He kept putting things off, ignoring the people below him to look for signs in the skies and in the weather, as if asking the gods for a sign that his blows were ready to fall. There was little communication between their two groups, and when there was, it was infrequent. He just had to trust that everything was all right. That she was all right. He wished for his hands back. He wished for his lips. He wished that he had seen her, one last time, before he had left. His beak could not remember the pliant curve to her lips, nor could his wings recall the way she fit snuggly against him.

One day when he was staring, worrying, Kyprioth came and spoke to him. The God appeared, smiling in his own inhuman way. Nawat flew to him, perching on the offered hand, and bowed his head in greeting. Nawat was quieter than normal. He had come to understand the importance and meaning to silence. When Nawat's feet closed around the man's fingers, the Trickster snapped them shut, holding them so Nawat could not fly away.

"You are dallying," he told the crow. His eyes were stern. "We had a wager, did we not? The sooner you do your job out here, the sooner you may return to the castle and to your precious Alianne. Stop worrying so much and work."

_I try,_ he sighed, shaking his feathers. _I try, but I find it so hard to concentrate sometimes. I see them. I hear the names they mention. The Balitangs are one of them. We must weed out what they know. We must learn when I can strike safely. I must yet make blows, for mobbing them would be too obvious and dirty._

The god's frown deepened. "You are a crow. Since when, brother, did crows start worrying about making themselves dirty?" Nawat did not answer. He had often wondered the same thing himself. "You spent too long as a man, Nawat, if you are so consumed with worry. And yet… she has taught you well. You were malleable, and eager to learn, but you are still young. You want Aly, and yet you want the sky as well. Where would the nestlings go, Nawat? Where would you live? Aly can not live in the sky. You may walk on two legs, but you do not fit in to her world yet. You still keep trying to fly away."

He slowly smiled when Nawat was silent, considering his words. "Work for me, Nawat. Do my bidding. Do your job, and think of the time you must watch humans as a gift. You can either be a crow who can become a man, and rule the sky, or you can be a man who can become a crow and rule the land. You cannot keep doing both. Already you do not think like a crow."

_The others tell me that as well. They tell me I have changed._

"Decide to stay a crow, Nawat, and you may one day return to normal. Or be a man. If you choose to be both, you will become isolated from the two worlds and fit well into meither one. Remember my words." The God released his foot and vanished, leaving Nawat to flutter to a branch of a tree.

* * *

He remembered Kyprioth's words. They were burned into is mind so deeply that he wondered if his last words had been a spell, forcing him to remember. He was not a crow. He could see that, slowly. There was the incident where he found the shiny rock. He flew down to the courtyard where it had dropped, titling his head to see it better. One of the other crows saw him eyeing it. 

_Take it_, he said. _They will not notice it. They kicked it about the courtyard as they walked as if it were nothing. It will be yours now._ The other crow laughed. Older than Nawat, he teased the younger crow for always dodging the looks the female crows in their gang flung his way. _Perhaps with it you can finally court some of the ladies._

He eyed the stone. In the sunlight it flickered a little green, like Aly's hazel eyes. She would like it. He recognized the stone. Quartz, it was called. The green tinge was from impurities in the crystal shards that made up the rock. The pink, another impurity that made the crystal milky-pink. He wanted to give it to her. He knew it was worthless, just a chip of a stone from the courtyard, but Ally would like it because it was a gift. It would let her know he was thinking about her, still courting her.

_Take the shiny thing, Nawat._

_It's called quartz._

_Who cares what the humans call it? To us crows it is a shiny. Humans complicate things with all their words. Why do they need names for different types of rocks?_ Disgruntled, the older crow flapped his wings and took off into the air.

Nawat picked the stone up with his beak. Hands would have been easier. Flapping his wings, he took off for the shoddily made nest he was calling home. He did not miss the comfort of the thing mat under him, nor the roof over him when it rained. He was not spoiled. But he missed pockets. They were handy things, pockets and bags. Had he pockets and bags, he could carry his shiny things with him always. Had he pockets or bags, he could hide his shiny things from the other crows to keep them from being pilfered when he left his nest.

Setting the stone inside his nest, he took off back to his look out post, vowing to write to Aly soon. After all, Aly had pockets.

* * *

He was watching the governor and his wife talking. Nawat knew that the governor was going to die, and he tried to keep himself focused, but he felt silly. The crows laughed at him when they saw that his black eyes lost their twinkle when he looked at the wife. They called him soft. They told him he had lost his edge. He was the weak crow in their gang. The glare he gave them silenced their taunts, but he knew. 

Compassion. Aly had said it once. Her voice was frigid when she asked him if he had no compassion after he had made a suggestion. It was her face and voice that had hurt. He had not understood the word, and had asked the cook what it meant. Chenaol had explained to him the concept of compassion. Aly had later come to apologize, knowing that she had been wrong.

_You're a crow, Nawat,_ she had told him. _Crows don't have compassion._

He didn't realize he had learned compassion from her until he watched the wife. He had no compassion for the governor, who just the other day had executed a raka family because their eldest son had spoken a bit too openly about the rebellion. Nawat had seen his face when they had been executed before him. It was the face of a raptor, without compassion.

The wife was different. She had brains and a heart. She had tried to stop the man from killing the raka family, pointing out that executing them for talking about rebellion would only breed more hate. She was smart. He didn't listen to her. Still she argued over him about it, until he struck her. Nawat's feathers moved as he tightened his muscles to keep himself from flying down and pecking out the man's eyes.

The governor stormed off and the woman, ashen-faced, collapsed into the nearest chair. Nawat could see the man's handprint on her face. As he watched, the captain of their guard entered and shut the door behind him. He knelt down before the woman and cupped her face in her hands, drying her tears for her. She smiled at him weakly and made a faint joke. He teased her in return, and at first she looked ready to jump like a startled horse before she burst out laughing with relief.

It puzzled Nawat, but he pushed the thoughts aside, watching as the man ran his hands gently over her sore cheek, and then to her lips. The woman's face darkened. It made her look prettier. If she looked like that always, she wouldn't need any of the face-paint the other woman wore. Nawat was happy inside when he remembered the way Aly didn't use face-paint. She looked pretty enough without it, and he wondered what she would look like if she blushed, or if he teased her. She was so like a crow, like a trickster, that he had been courting her the way he would have courted a crow. Aly, he realized, needed to be courted like this, kept on her toes.

A caw escaped him, a laugh. Yes, Aly would need to be kept on her toes. If she wasn't, she may grow bored with him, and seek another mate, as this wife did. Nawat did not like that idea. Aly was his mate. He would keep coals under her feet if that was what it took to keep her entertained. He made a note to learn how to tease her, the way this man verbally teased his lover. Nawat wanted to make her smile for him, and laugh. The surprise on her face when she realized he could tease would be the best trick of all.

He watched as the man slowly undressed the governor's wife and made love to her. He had seen humans mate before, in particular, this wife. After the execution, when they reached their bedrooms, her husband had tumbled her. It had been over quickly, and the woman did not seem to enjoy it. This was lengthy, even if they were in danger of being caught. The man undressed her slowly and made certain to kiss every part of her skin. The woman squirmed and laughed and moaned with desire. Nawat could understand why. He remembered the way Aly's skin felt against his, how nice it felt. It had always felt nice when she preened his hair, or his feathers, but there was something about flesh-to-flesh contact, the warmth flowing between them, that better than preening.

Still, he was going to feel bad for her. Her husband would be shot dead tomorrow morning as he took his morning tea out on the patio. While she may not relish his life, she still had nestlings that would miss their father. Their pain would become her pain.

It eased him a little to know that she would not be baring the pain alone, though.

* * *

He was writing a letter to Aly. He had resumed his human shape to do it, of course. He could not write as a crow. He thought of her as he tucked the griffin feather into the letter. What would her face look like when she opened it? Would her eyes look more brown, or green? What would she do with the feather? A chuckle escaped him as he imagined her wearing it in her hair as a trophy, only to be caught in one of her own lies when the griffin magic worked. 

Nawat caught a reflection of himself in the pool by which he worked in the forest, far away from any humans who might see him naked. For a moment he did not recognize himself. Then he looked closer. He was still himself, but there was something else…. Bright Nawat saw it after another minute. He was different.

He could recall when he had first become a human. He had spent days practicing talking, walking, and doing the human things he saw Aly do. At first when he tried to smile, it resembled a grimace or a glare. He kept practicing. He understood the reason for smiles, and he wanted Aly to know that he came in peace, that he was her friend, and he wanted her to know when he was happy. If she made a joke, he wanted to smile at it. So he had kept practicing, until he could smile.

But even then the smile did not quite reach his eyes. They had been good eyes, happy eyes, sad eyes, lonely eyes… but never human eyes. He smiled for the pool of water, watching as the corners of his eyes wrinkled naturally and the color darkened, deep-set black eyes that winked like obsidian from behind heavy lashes. They were human eyes.

_Even if I chose to be a crow, I will never be a crow._ The thought made him sad. He watched as the smile vanished, and when there was a twinkle in his eye, he worried it was an unshed tear.

He was too smart to be a crow, too learned. He had read too much, and felt too much. He accepted that he could never be happy with the just the crows again. They called him brother, looked up to him, and he was their commander in the time of rebellion for the very reason of he _was_ learned. He could strategize. And he knew the benefit—and pain—of patience.

What worried him was that he still was not certain that he could live among the humans. He had reason to. He wanted to. He had ambition to…

But _could_ he?


End file.
